


if you feel like i feel, baby

by thisbroadcast



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Buddy System, Buddy System S2, Coffee, Idiots in Love, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Miscommunication, Pining, Robots, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sex Pollen (only not)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-27 04:13:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14417430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisbroadcast/pseuds/thisbroadcast
Summary: Grinder XXX. Does all the things. Brews coffee so strong, it almost feels wrong. Satisfaction guaranteed! (Or, the virginity-losin' Buddy System fanfic no one asked for.)“- andthe pièce de résistance- thepièce de résistanceof my collection, Link, is an extremely rare, silky smooth and delightfully earthy Mongolian Arabica. It’s double-processed in the stomach and intestinal tract of the endangered East Asian silver-snooted cow yeti, and it is a priceless and unparalleled aphrodisiac. Legend has it that Marvin Gaye consumed only a single tablespoon before recording his 1973 R&B masterpiece, Let’s Get It On.”





	if you feel like i feel, baby

**Author's Note:**

> This is unbeta’d (though it probably should’ve been) and also my first foray into this fandom. I really just came here to write some weird porn, man, and look at what happened. This is set in some ephemeral time after S2E04 because eventual nudity but, like, before the thing in the season finale happens.

He made the coffee wrong again, apparently. Link wouldn’t really know. Rhett is always insisting that smelling is actually most of tasting, but Link wasn’t exactly a coffee enthusiast even before the whole robot tongue thing happened.

A cortado is an americano is a nitro is just another thing for him to shrug at. There's never going to be another coffee order for him besides: regular, medium sized, with cream and sugar. The Rhetts of the world can get as het up about their foams and their extractions as they like. Coffee smells great but not exactly revelatory, and while his new tongue has great sensation, it can only pick up faint hints of flavor, which is just how he likes it. Salt and sugar and bitter and how gosh-awful nasty unadulterated water is. Rhett can judge all he wants. Link’s never been one much for tasting to begin with.

Besides, the coffee maker Rhett brought home a few weeks ago is a hulking robot monster that still terrorizes Link in the mornings with its sinister blinking lights and multitudinous buttons.

What happens is this:

Rhett takes a long, slow sip of coffee. It’s appreciative and a little gurgly, that thing fancy people do to aerate wine. Link watches, admiring. Last time he tried that he’d choked so much he’d puked a little in his mouth, and Rhett had pounded his back and made little half-amused noises of polite alarm. 

Rhett goes, “Mmm,” and lets his eyes fall half-shut in pleasure. “This is perfect, Link. Exactly 150 degrees. The ideal temperature for steaming, so as to caramelize the sugars in the milk but not overwhelm the tongue with heat.”

“How’d you know it’s exactly 150 degrees?” Link is unwillingly impressed. He’s got his own coffee cup cradled between both hands, held right up under his chin so he can smell it better. The steam is beading under his chin, heat seeping through the porcelain and into his palms.

Rhett shifts on the sofa, a happy wiggle. “Because I programmed the machine to do precisely that and nothing else. Is this the Costa Rican?”

Link throws a look at him. “Why does it matter? It’s coffee, man. I did use that weird viscous oat milk you got at the co-op, though. It looked pret-ty nasty. Tastes alright, though, I guess. Kinda beige. Gloopy.”

Rhett straightens up so abruptly that Link startles back a little and slops coffee right onto his khaki pants. “Was it the jar with the maroon or burgundy lid?”

For all Rhett’s deadly serious and looks like he’s bare seconds away from starting to foam at the mouth, Link scoffs at him. “Aren’t they basically the same color?”

“Probably not,” Rhett says, doubtfully.

He’s frowning really hard now. His eye is getting big and his eyebrow’s closing in on his nose, but only on one side. “It’s extremely important that the canisters didn’t get mixed up, Link. That’s why they’re all color coded.”

“What’s the big deal?” This is confusing. Rhett’s a pretty particular guy, but he likes diversity in his flavors. So what if he got a cup of Canadian coffee instead of an Australian, or whatever? This should be thrilling as all get out to his weird, variety-loving soul. “So what if it was maroon, and not burgundy like you said?”

“Right. Listen. Link. I didn’t actually anticipate this, but considering how you’re… you, I probably should have seen it coming.” Rhett threads one finger over and under the peach silk kerchief he’s got on and pulls it taught from his neck, unusually fidgety. “I shouldn’t have expected you to understand or appreciate my organizationally superior approach to coffee storage. But I guess I wouldn’t have picked you as my roommate if I hadn’t been at least a little bit subconsciously alright with this possibility.”

Link looks at him. “That’s pretty harsh, don’t you think? Also, do you even hear yourself talk sometimes?”

Link puts his coffee on the coffee table and knocks his knees together, presses his hands tight together in his lap. Rhett’s - not yelling, but saying things pretty intensely, and it’s super annoying, and most parts of his brain are telling him to jump up and shove Rhett’s stupid face into his dumb shag rug, but honestly. The way Rhett’s been looking at him for the past few minutes is making him seize up a little instead. His entire body is trembling. It’s really strange. Rhett keeps the thermostat at 72.164 degrees, which ain’t exactly chilly.

He’s always been shaky, is always kinda wired. And caffeine does things to him, makes him waffle and stutter and stub his toes on things he never sees coming, but gosh. This is some next level stuff. Kinda like how he’s always imagined Red Bull might be, but if he was also being hunted by a gigantic blonde tiger in 100% silk. 

Rhett is unknotting his kerchief, pulling it off, twirling it into a little lackadaisical roll. He blinks slowly, rolls his eyes at Link once more for good measure. His superiority complex can really get grating, sometimes. “I told you specifically to use coffee from the burgundy-lidded canister, Link. This is totally your fault. And despite the unexpectedness of finding myself in this situation, I do consent. Do you?”

“What? Consent to what? Rhett? _Rhett_. What’s my fault? Rhett!”

Rhett is unbuttoning his shirt, now (gray, vintage, subtly striped crepe de chine, why in the world does Link know this), and he’s not looking at Link anymore. He’s not even pretending to listen. He’s looking hard at their half-drunk coffee cups, cooling on the side table. His eyes are narrowed. It looks a little like he’s thinking about fighting them.

Link tries again. “Why are you freaking out, man? Are we poisoned?” He really does feel weird. Kind of tense and loose at the same time, kind of like he needs a hug, or to call his mom and apologize for _something_. “I feel funny. We should call 911 if we’ve ingested poison. Should I call 911? Rhett.”

Rhett’s eyes snap to Link’s. His mouth is a thin pink line with teeth marks pressed into the bottom lip, and he’s quivering with suppressed anger.

“I have ten different varieties of coffee, Link. Ten individual single origin, meticulously harvested, locally-roasted half pound bags, each of them bought exactly two weeks apart to ensure maximum freshness and palatial diversity. Every one of them is sealed in carefully chosen, handcrafted, airtight containers. There’s Colombian, Ethiopian, Costa Rican -”

Link rolls his eyes so hard it feels like they hit the back of his skull. “They all taste the same to me! And they’re not very clearly labeled! Color coding is not a very accurate system! Are we dying, or not?” He’s actually starting to panic a little now. “I’m too young to die! I’ve got so much to give.”

Rhett keeps going like he hasn’t even heard, hands precise and efficient with his buttons, only he’s talking even louder now. 

“- and the _pièce de résistance_ \- the _pièce de résistance_ of my collection, Link, is an extremely rare, silky-smooth and delightfully fruity Mongolian Arabica. It’s double-processed in the stomach and intestinal tract of the East Asian silver-snooted cow yeti, and it is a priceless and unparalleled aphrodisiac. Legend has it that Marvin Gaye consumed only a single tablespoon before recording his 1973 R &B masterpiece, Let’s Get It On.”

Link lets that sink in for a moment, turns it over and over in his brain. Rhett is staring at him still, and his shirt is unbuttoned and staticky, almost the same shade as his eyes, clinging to the minute curve of his waist. Which is a weird thought to have, but Link rolls with it even though he’s not really the rolling type. His hands are trembling now. He feels flushed. He is definitely dying from Rhett’s weird nightmare coffee poison. 

Ohio is sounding better and better with every passing moment. At least in Ohio they probably just drink frickin’ instant Folgers, and don’t take their clothes off in front of their roommates. Link thinks about bringing this up, but -

“Wait. This cow thing eats it and then what, it poops it back out and people drink it?” He sticks his tongue out in disgust.

Rhett’s eyes snap to his mouth and then back up again. He's gently shifting back and forth on his toes like he wants to strangle Link to death. It’s a not-unusual motion from him. Rhett’s normally more about gentle-yet-grating condescension, less about barely-restrained violence, but it happens. There was a moment last week with the _barely_ noticeable ding on the motorcycle sidecar. Like Link had asked that lady with the Oscar Meyer Weinermobile to back into them, or something. 

“What the crap, man? I drank cow poop coffee? And it didn’t even taste that different from regular coffee? What the crap!”

“You are completely missing the point,” Rhett hisses at him. His cheekbones are blushed pink now, which Link assumes is probably a delayed reaction to the poison - but maybe it’s also that he’s finally starting to realize how bizarre drinking crap coffee is, and he’s embarrassed about it. “Also, it’s _artisinal_.”

Then again, this is Rhett. Yesterday he’d gotten a lunchbox delivery of three lightly seared whole jellyfish stacked on top of one another and _he’d liked it_. 

Rhett points both index fingers at Link, jabbing the air like he wants to say something cutting but can’t quite get there. Instead he lets his head falls forwards into his waiting hands, compulsively smoothing his beard in a way that Link always finds, somehow, completely captivating. Rhett’s got a soft beard, or at least he assumes Rhett does, because of all the beard oil he uses. Link’s caught him in the bathroom at night, standing over the sink and gently smoothing a precise four drops of patchouli and rose-scented oil into the hair.

Link doesn’t moisturize his moustache. (“C’mon, Link. Just try it once. The quality of this jojoba oil is exceptional. And I’m the one who has to look at you all the time.”) He’s just not that kind of guy.

“What’s the point, then? That it was expensive? When I get a new job, I’ll totally pay you back -”

Link stops talking then, not because he was finished, which he definitely was not, but because Rhett’s mouth is mashing against his. Rhett’s hands are on his shoulders, holding him in place. Rhett’s beard is scraping gently against his chin and cheeks, brushing his top lip. Rhett’s breath is warm and coffee-scented as they hang there, frozen except for the way Rhett’s tongue is pressing insistently against the seam of Link’s mouth.

Link’s never been kissed before, but he’s pretty sure they were supposed to work up to french kissing. He’s pretty sure Rhett wasn’t supposed to do it like this, isn’t supposed to be biting at the tip of Link’s chin and pressing his thumbs into the divots of Link’s collarbones and making short, frustrated baritone rumbles deep inside his chest. He wants to scramble away and ask what the heck Rhett’s thinking, except - 

“ _Oh_ ,” he whimpers, and opens his mouth up for Rhett.

He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. They flutter against Rhett’s chest, which is too bare to land against, and tap distractedly against Rhett’s thighs, too intimate to contemplate, before he gives in and lets himself trace Rhett’s jawline. The beard is soft. Link runs his fingers through it, up into Rhett’s hair, across the sweet curve where his head meets his long neck.

Rhett rumbles some more at him, noses his head gently back. His mouth goes gentle. Rhett’s tongue is touching his now, and when Link’d thought of this before it’d been pretty gross. Grossly unnecessary. He’d never been sure why anyone would want someone else’s germy saliva anywhere near their mucous membranes. Now something heavy and warm is pooling in his gut and he wants to open up more for Rhett, wants to pull Rhett’s tongue into his own mouth so their spit can mix all proper.

He sucks on Rhett’s tongue because it’s there and he wants to, and Rhett makes a wounded sound, fingers tightening convulsively on Link’s shoulders. Before Link knows what’s happening he’s flat on his back on their sofa and Rhett’s on top of him, between his legs. 

Link’s glasses are jamming uncomfortably into his face and now he’s shivering everywhere, thighs aching with the sudden stretch of Rhett between them. Rhett reaches down and gets one big hand around the meat of Link’s thigh, slides the other one under the small of Link’s back, pulls his body up and against him. Link’s never felt small before, not really, but Rhett’s hands feel massive, Rhett feels huge and warm between his legs.

Link gets a tentative leg wrapped up around Rhett’s hips and pulls him in closer, suddenly greedy. He's got sweat beading on his hairline, hips shifting this way and that against the sofa leather, their mouths still tangled together. He just hadn’t known. Hadn’t understood why people did this, never had got the urge for it. This is so much more than he'd ever expected. He can feel the hard edge of Rhett's ribcage all along his belly, the soft press-give of his bare skin and grasping hands against Link's polo shirt.

It takes him a few moments to realize Rhett’s trying to say something, only Link’s hands are twisted into his hair and he can’t move away. He presses his head back into the arm of the sofa, separating their lips just enough to hear. It’s Link’s name, over and over again, spoken wetly between their open, clinging mouths.

“What?” Link says, shocked. His lips feel bruised. He hadn’t realized kissing could be such an energetic activity. “What?”

“Do I have your consent?” Rhett’s hair is all ruffled, falling in messy waves out of the elastic holding it back.

“My consent for what?” Link blinks up at him. 

He really genuinely wants to _know_ what for, is the thing. More of the kissing? More touching? More Rhett's hands up and down his waist, squeezing so gently? He waits expectantly for Rhett’s answer, but Rhett’s not saying a word. He’s just staring at Link like he’s never seen him before, eyebrows all drawn together in familiar consternation.

“I shouldn’t,” he whispers, getting one hand between them and pushing it against Link’s sternum. “I should not be doing this.”

Link’s breath leaves him in one big gust as Rhett pushes himself up and away, tearing himself from the cradle of Link’s legs. Link makes a low noise. He feels kinda cold now, but still warm too, and it’s just not going away. “Shouldn’t be doing what?”

“You don’t even - you don’t even get it, do you? What I’m asking from you?” Rhett gets his hands in his own hair, tugging in frustration. He gets up on his feet and takes a quick step away, banging his shins on the coffee table and running straight towards the dining room and the hallway to their room, where he hangs in the doorway and turns to look at Link, mouth tight. “Sometimes I forget how tiny and childlike your brain is.”

Link can feel the surprise dissipating, being replaced by a steadily growing anger like nothing he’s ever felt before. Rhett just has this way about him. He’s confusing and abstruse and he makes Link even crazier than robots do. Link’s not a yelling man, but by golly he wants to yell now.

“What are even you talking about? Why can’t we just -”

“You eat cracker sandwiches! Your idea of too-spicy is black pepper! Last week, you asked me what the freaky, exotic fruit I was eating was. It was a banana!” Rhett’s flashing some seriously demented eyes at him by now. His chest is heaving. The discarded shirt is crumpled in a sad heap on the floor by his feet, still in their fur-lined house sandals, and Rhett doesn't even seem to care.

Link glares up at him. “Bananas are plenty weird!”

“They’re bananas!” Rhett shouts.

“ _Exactly_.” Link crosses his arms then, satisfied. “Anyway, I don’t see what unusual fruits have to do with any of - whatever that whole thing just was.”

Rhett groans and covers his eyes with one hand. Link’s working up to a full-on self-righteous snit when Rhett sighs and looks at him, deflating suddenly. “If I have to explain it, man, I don’t really think we should be doing it. I'm sorry.”

Rhett disappears around the corner before Link even gets the breath in to start asking about that one, calling over his shoulder as he goes: “I’m just gonna. I’m just gonna take a shower. Try to relax out here. Or. Whatever.”

He’s on his feet and in the kitchen in seconds, but the door to the bathroom’s already tightly shut and he can hear the hiss of the shower head and Rhett banging drawers open and closed. No use hollering through the door, probably. Link has his dignity. Rhett does confusing stuff five times a day, and this is no exception. So what else is new? The sky is blue and the grass is dry greenish-brown in most of California?

When he looks at the coffee maker and the open container of coffee set next to it, the lid is pink. Not burgundy, not maroon. He puts it back in its cupboard with the others, then braces his hands on the cool countertop and sighs.

He's never going to understand coffee culture.

**Author's Note:**

> Next week: Rhett invests in a robotic companion and Link uses wikiHow to great effect.


End file.
